MELISSA
It takes us three weeks of back-breaking effort to get a compliment, let alone a promotion. Another two weeks on top of that to get a regular smile from our line manager at the start of the shift.
Week seven of scrubbing steel and grouting and toilet bowls until our hands are blotchy, and both Sonnie and I are questioning just how sound our ambitious little scheme is turning out to be.
She drops her sponge in the canteen sink and shoots me a look of pure apathy. “Whose idea was this?”
“Yours.” I smile as I wipe down the air conditioning vent. “And mine.
Alexander Henley’s seat, remember?”
She takes a deep breath. “Mmm, I hope it smells half as good as I imagine.”
“Oh, it will,” I say. “He smells incredible.”
“And there she goes… never quits with the bragging…” Sonnie’s laug
